


The Devil In I

by xagentofchaos



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, Short One Shot, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-02
Updated: 2015-06-02
Packaged: 2018-04-02 14:13:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 577
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4062988
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xagentofchaos/pseuds/xagentofchaos





	The Devil In I

The room was filthy and smelled of dried blood and anxiety. He couldn’t breathe, he noted as he was trying to rotate in his position. Not a single limp even flinched. Something heavy was pressed against his chest, suffocating his lungs by its weight; crushing his inner parts. It didn’t hurt though, as if he’s numb, like the nerves had lost all sensation. 

It was completely dark where he was, not a single source of light to be seen. Or he was just blind; perhaps his eyes had been dragged out. It wouldn’t surprise him, figuring his job wasn’t always the kindest. In fact, it never was. 

He tried to scream for help but the air wasn’t there, at all. The only sound that escaped his throat was a dry wheeze, as if he had been chugging sand in the last couple of hours. His head was spinning and he was trying to remember how he ended up in this situation; what monster did he piss off to deserve this? 

Suddenly, a door is being opened and bright light swam between the walls. He blinked many times, tears dripping down from the stinging sensation. His vision was blurry; still couldn’t see into the room. 

Someone was walking towards him with slow but determined steps. He tried to scream again but his throat was still sore from the imaginary sand; the whole Sahara Desert was in his lungs. The figure was right beside him now; he could distinguish a black jacket on a body that was silent still. 

It remained silence when something sharp sliced into his side; punctured a hole through his skin. The pain was excruciating; sending burning pulses to his brain. He wheezed out a scream as loud as he could; hissed into the moist mess on his body. The sharp object kept on slicing; cutting and carving on his flesh, as if he was a dead fish that needs to be cleared off its bones. 

He couldn’t breathe for real now; his body was giving up on him. The figure beside him was digging the blood out of him and he was about to die. He kept on hissing his screams, his shaking body matching the slow beats of the pulse. 

The sharp object changed place to puncture and instead it went directly to his chest. It didn’t slice and dice him into small cubes of raw meat, instead it was carving something on him; writing onto his chest. 

“Just to let you know that you truly belong to me now,” a well-known voice murmurs in a hoarse voice. Sam flinches violently and tries to get out of the traps even harder. But he’s still not moving; whatever’s trapping him won’t leave his body in the first place. 

“Don’t do this,” he wheezes. He screams sibilantly again, head thrown back onto the cold, metal table. 

“You can do much better than that,” Crowley says, clearly grinning from the sound of his voice. He dugs the knife around in Sam’s chest, spilling blood everywhere. Sam screams louder and the barrier between him and the sand that enforced him to scream quietly, disappeared as the pain became more and more. “Stop bellowing like a wounded animal, moose, I’ll take care of you.” He bent down and stuck his tongue into the puddle of blood and open wound with Sam growling of pain. “Well,” he shrugged his shoulders and looked far too innocent. “In my own way.”


End file.
